


Afterward

by RaeDMagdon



Series: Pharmercy [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Doctor/Patient, F/F, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, TLC, very mild and mostly humorous doctor roleplay, very minor mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Fareeha loves feeling Angela’s hands. They’re small, but strong too, and when they move over the landscape of her body, searching out every bruise and abrasion, they are infinitely tender. It is a tenderness Fareeha rarely gets to enjoy.





	Afterward

**Author's Note:**

> This is a followup to Like Always. I'm @raedmagdon on tumblr, and I post a ton of femslash.

Fareeha loves feeling Angela’s hands.

They’re small, but strong too, and when they move over the landscape of her body, searching out every bruise and abrasion, they are infinitely tender. It is a tenderness Fareeha rarely gets to enjoy. Duty keeps her busy, and moments like this are less frequent than she’d like.

But right now, Angela’s hands are roaming her back with a doctor’s touch, not stroking or kneading, but probing at sore spots that haven’t quite healed yet. “Does this hurt?” Angela asks, brushing a spot behind her shoulder blade.

It does, a little, but it’s far from unbearable, so Fareeha says, “No.” She would do anything and everything to erase the worry from her lover’s voice, to see the relief in Angela’s eyes that only arrives after the examination is over, and she has been declared well and whole.

“Hmm.”

Fareeha glances over her shoulder from her prone position on her stomach. Angela is standing beside the examination table, looking at her with thin-pressed lips and suspicious eyes.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Fareeha insists. “See?” She props herself up on one elbow and moves the opposite shoulder, showing some range of motion. She feels a slight twinge, but makes sure her face doesn’t flinch.

“Stop that.”

Angela presses a hand into the middle of Fareeha’s spine, pushing her gently onto the table once more.

Fareeha sighs. “You really aren’t going to let me move until you’re finished, are you?”

For the first time since their relieved reunion on the dropship and their return to headquarters, Angela gives her a small smile. “Do I ever?”

“No,” Fareeha says, with a quiet laugh. She rests her cheek on her folded hands, submitting once more to her lover’s touch.

Angela’s hands resume their explorations, although they’re softer this time. They still seek out sore spots, some Fareeha hadn’t even realized she had, but rather than prodding at them and poking bruises Fareeha would rather see left alone, they begin kneading. It’s more of a massage than an exam, and Fareeha offers a quiet moan of appreciation.

“I still need to check you over,” Angela says, although her words don’t come across as convincing. Fareeha doesn’t have to glance up to know what the uncertain expression on Angela’s face currently looks like, because she’s seen it before. Angela is typically the pinnacle of professionalism—she refuses to treat Fareeha herself except in the field, when there are no other medics available. Here in her office, Fareeha suspects, the lines are blurred a little more than she would prefer.

But this is a small battle Fareeha knows she can win. Despite Angela’s temporary flare-ups of guilt, even though she has absolutely nothing to feel guilty for, she isn’t all that difficult to persuade.

“You know,” she says, “that spot on my shoulder is sore. Can you do anything?”

Angela turns, probably to retrieve something from one of the shiny sterile cabinets, but pauses, seeming to think better of it. This time, Fareeha does look up at her, and what she finds in Angela’s face is a question. Her lover is silently asking permission.

Fareeha gives Angela her most reassuring smile. Angela will always have her yes.

“I believe I can.” Angela touches the spot again, but this time she digs her thumb in, rubbing the knot in slow circles.

Fareeha can’t stifle a moan. Her nipples are already hardening against the table beneath her, and though her underwear is still on, the fabric has started to cling. She wishes she had her cock with her, but as appealing a thought as bending Angela over the table is, she knows this isn’t the time. This is for Angela as much as it is for her: a reassurance that she’s all right. She doesn’t want to put that on hold.

Her lashes flutter as Angela’s other hand comes to rest on her back too. It digs into the same spot on the opposite side, and Fareeha tenses for just a moment before melting further into the table. “Already feels better,” she says, giving Angela a sideways smile. “Thank you, ya rouhi.”

Fareeha waits to see if the pet name will be accepted, and knows it is when Angela gives her another soft smile. “You know my hands are yours whenever you want them.”

It’s an intentionally suggestive comment, Fareeha is sure. Angela’s pupils are wide and dark inside her hazy blue irises, and Fareeha feels as though she could drown in their depths. Somehow, she summons the will to answer: “What if I want them lower?”

Angela’s hands glide down her back, until they’re resting at the dimples near the base of her spine. “How much lower?”

Fareeha swallows. The ache in her belly undeniable, and after such an exhausting mission, the thought of her lover’s hands, of Angela’s graceful fingers working their magic between her legs, is both tempting and something of a comfort to imagine. She needs connection as much as she needs touch.

“Here.” She spreads her legs, shivering slightly as the cool air touches the damp fabric that’s been hidden between her thighs. Wetness has seeped through, which makes it worse, until Angela’s right hand slides down over her rear and gives her a firm squeeze.

“Here?”

Fareeha holds back a grin. It seems Angela is getting into the spirit of things after all.

“A little lower.”

Angela’s fingertips trail down, following the crease where her leg joins her hip without moving inward. They skim Fareeha’s inner thigh, tracing circles, or maybe hearts. “Here?”

Fareeha tries not to tremble. “Little higher.” She spreads her legs even wider, lifting her hips a little, and is rewarded when Angela finally cups between her legs.

“Ah. So you mean here.”

Before Fareeha can answer, Angela begins rubbing, putting pressure everywhere at once. Even though she’s expecting the touch, Fareeha’s vision goes a little blurry, because the pleasure has taken her aback. Sometimes, she forgets just how wonderful it feels when Angela touches her.

“Mmhmm. Yes. There…”

Angela’s hand moves, and Fareeha makes a noise of disappointment until her lover’s thumbs hook into the waistband of her underwear. “I’m afraid I need to remove this, Fareeha. I need a proper look at the area in question.”

Fareeha stifles a snort. Angela’s voice sounds funny, more like a bad actor playing a doctor than an actual world-renowned physician, but it’s sort of cute too, because Fareeha knows her habibti is sincerely trying. She decides to let it slide. She’s lucky Angela is playing along at all.

“Go ahead, Doctor Ziegler.” Fareeha looks back over her shoulder. Just as she suspects, Angela’s face is bright red. She clicks her tongue, and Fareeha obeys by putting her head back down, but she isn’t sorry for peeking. That blush was worth stealing a glance for.

“Stay still this time,” Angela says. She pulls the underwear down, and Fareeha hisses quietly through her teeth. The heat between her legs is throbbing even harder now that it’s exposed, and she needs to be touched in the worst way. To her embarrassment, she’s starting to doubt she’ll last for more than a few strokes of Angela’s fingers.

Angela seems to know this already, because her first touch is soft. Her fingers glide freely, and Fareeha clenches. She’d known she was wet, but feeling Angela sliding through the slickness makes it obvious in a different way.

“How does this feel?” Angela asks, stroking up and down in a feather-light line.

“Um…” Fareeha swallows to prevent her voice from cracking. “Sensitive?”

“Hmm.” Angela pretends to consider the feedback, before sliding her fingers down toward Fareeha’s clit. “And this?” she asks, milking the root between the ‘v’ of her first two fingers.

Fareeha’s fingers clench. She wishes she could clench the edges of the table, but she doesn’t want to shift and risk losing Angela’s touch. She digs her nails into her palms instead, fighting the instinct to roll her hips. “Mm… more sensitive.”

“This?”

Angela draws small circles on her very tip, and Fareeha can’t stifle a groan. It feels good, but it’s also overwhelming, and she gasps out, “A little too sensitive.”

“I see.”

Angela continues spreading her wetness around, teasing her inner lips, occasionally massaging the outer ones. Sometimes she brushes Fareeha’s clit, or works the base with a rolling pinch, but she never stays in one place for long. Fareeha bites her lip. Later, she tells herself, she’ll get her cock and take back some control, but for now, it feels nice to be in the palm of Angela’s hand. It’s where she puts her life every time she goes into the air, after all.

“It’s not strictly necessary, Fareeha,” Angela says, her “doctor voice” all but replaced with the huskiness of desire, “but I would like to perform an… internal examination. Just to make sure everything’s all right.”

Fareeha pauses, searching inside herself. Sometimes she enjoys penetration, and sometimes she doesn’t, but today, the thought of it doesn’t make her stomach clench with nerves. In fact, her chest glows with warmth because of Angela’s asking. She always does, but it never fails to make Fareeha feel cared for. She lowers her hips, causing Angela’s fingers to glide toward her opening.

“Go ahead,” she says, and then on impulse, adds: “Please.”

Angela starts with just one finger. It slides in a little at a time, rocking in and out, in and out, until Fareeha finds her pelvis is rocking with it. She tries to grind her clit into the table, but she can’t quite get the contact she wants. Fortunately, Angela chooses that moment to add a second finger, and she forgets her disappointment.

There is a pause—Angela letting her adjust to the stretch, Fareeha thinks, and then the curling starts, sending starbursts behind her eyes. She groans, Angela lets out something like a laugh before catching herself. “I do feel some swelling,” she says, probing at Fareeha’s sensitive front wall. “Let me see…”

She begins pressing, massaging, and Fareeha’s hips quiver. She’s embarrassingly close already, and the pressure inside her is just right to push her up to the edge. “My clit,” she gasps, forgetting all about their game. Right now, with Angela inside her, it’s just the two of them, two people who love each other and have survived yet again to celebrate that love.

Angela doesn’t hesitate. She positions her thumb against Fareeha’s clit, and all she has to do is circle it once. Fareeha cries out, arching off the exam table, quivering and clenching around the fingers inside her. There is no holding back, no hesitation. Other lovers have left her cold in vulnerable moments like this, but Angela… Angela is different. She can truly let go, surrender to the pleasure.

Her release doesn’t stop Angela from continuing. While she squeezes tighter, Angela pushes harder, digging into that spot until Fareeha can’t stand it anymore. She mumbles something like Angela’s name, and then releases the fullness inside her, spilling into Angela’s hand in short bursts and dripping onto the exam table below.

Angela makes a low, pleased hum. She keeps curling her fingers, but leans down as well, pressing warm kisses to the middle of Fareeha’s back. Fareeha desperately wishes those kisses were on her mouth, but in this position, it’s not possible. She’ll have to wait.

That thought, kissing Angela, stays in her mind as her ripples quiet and the tension drains from her limbs. It takes her a few seconds to recover, but when she does, she shifts her hips to tell Angela to pull out and flips over onto her back. She sits up, not even using her arms, and leans toward Angela with her lips parted.

Angela kisses her with the same need. Their mouths meet, breaths mingling, tongues gliding. Even without Angela’s fingers inside her, Fareeha feels a few aftershocks race through her core. Kissing Angela is just that good.

They part only to breathe, and then Angela begins laughing. “You make me do the most embarrassing things…”

Fareeha grins, resting their foreheads together. “I’m not your regular patient. I’m your girlfriend.”

“I know, but still. I said embarrassing, not unethical.”

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Fareeha says, smoothing back a soft lock of blonde hair that has escaped Angela’s ponytail. “It was...”

“Enjoyable? I could tell,” Angela says, with a subtle note of pride in her voice. “My examination table will definitely need disinfecting.”

Fareeha suddenly realizes her thigh is touching a puddle. “Oh. Sorry?”

Angela kisses her again, sort and short. “You have nothing to be sorry for, liebling. I am… honored… to bring you pleasure, in whatever ways you let me.”

There is a tremble of uncertainty in the last sentence, and Fareeha knows why: Angela is less upset now that they’ve made love again—it always helps after missions, to the point where it’s almost a requirement—but she’s still a little worried, coming down from fear.

“Because it means I’m here,” Fareeha says. “I’ll always be here, Angela.”

“How can you promise that?” Angela asks, although the look in her eyes tells Fareeha that she wishes it were possible.

Fareeha smiles. “You won’t let me die. I’m probably the safest person in the entire world.”

The words are effective. Angela laughs. “You may have a point. Kiss me?”

They kiss again, and Fareeha sighs into Angela’s lips. The mission may always come first, but she will always treasure the moments afterward more.


End file.
